"Have you heard about the Griffiths, Mrs Howlett?"
"No!... What is it?" answered Mrs Howlett, half turning round, intensely curious.
Miss Reed waited a moment to heighten the effect of her statement.
"Daisy Griffith has eloped--with an officer from the depot at Tercanbury."
Mrs Howlett gave a little gasp.
"You don"t say so!"
"It"s all they could expect," whispered Miss Reed. "They ought to have known something was the matter when she went into Tercanbury three or four times a week."
Blackstable is six miles from Tercanbury, which is a cathedral city and has a cavalry depot.
"I"ve seen her hanging about the barracks with my own eyes," said Mrs Howlett, "but I never suspected anything."
"Shocking! isn"t it?" said Miss Reed, with suppressed delight.
"But how did you find out?" asked Mrs Howlett.
"Ssh!" whispered Miss Reed--the widow, in her excitement, had raised her voice a little and Miss Reed could never suffer the least irreverence in church.... "She never came back last night, and George Browning saw them get into the London train at Tercanbury."
"Well, I never!" exclaimed Mrs Howlett.
"D"you think the Griffiths"ll have the face to come to church?"
"I shouldn"t if I was them," said Miss Reed.
But at that moment the vestry door was opened and the organ began to play the hymn.
"I"ll see you afterwards," Miss Reed whispered hurriedly; and rising from their seats, both ladies began to sing,--
_O Jesu, thou art standing_ _Outside the fast closed door,_ _In lowly patience waiting_ _To pa.s.s the threshold o"er;_ _We bear the name of Christians_....
Miss Reed held the book rather close to her face, being shortsighted; but, without even lifting her eyes, she had become aware of the entrance of Mrs Griffith and George. She glanced significantly at Mrs Howlett. Mr Griffith hadn"t come, although he was churchwarden, and Mrs Howlett gave an answering look which meant that it was then evidently quite true. But they both gathered themselves together for the last verse, taking breath.
_O Jesus, thou art pleading_ _In accents meek and low_....
A--A--men! The congregation fell to its knees, and the curate, rolling his eyes to see who was in church, began gabbling the morning prayers--"_Dearly beloved brethren._" ...
II
At the Sunday dinner, the vacant place of Daisy Griffith stared at them.
Her father sat at the head of the table, looking down at his plate, in silence; every now and then, without raising his head, he glanced up at the empty s.p.a.ce, filled with a madness of grief.... He had gone into Tercanbury in the morning, inquiring at the houses of all Daisy"s friends, imagining that she had spent the night with one of them. He could not believe that George Browning"s story was true, he could so easily have been mistaken in the semi-darkness of the station. And even he had gone to the barracks--his cheeks still burned with the humiliation--asking if they knew a Daisy Griffith.
He pushed his plate away with a groan. He wished pa.s.sionately that it were Monday, so that he could work. And the post would surely bring a letter, explaining.
"The vicar asked where you were," said Mrs Griffith.
Robert, the father, looked at her with his pained eyes, but her eyes were hard and shining, her lips almost disappeared in the tight closing of the mouth. She was willing to believe the worst. He looked at his son; he was frowning; he looked as coldly angry as the mother. He, too, was willing to believe everything, and they neither seemed very sorry.... Perhaps they were even glad.
"I was the only one who loved her," he muttered to himself, and pushing back his chair he got up and left the room. He almost tottered; he had aged twenty years in the night.
"Aren"t you going to have any pudding?" asked his wife.
He made no answer.
He walked out into the courtyard quite aimlessly, but the force of habit took him to the workshop, where, every Sunday afternoon, he was used to going after dinner to see that everything was in order, and to-day also he opened the window, put away a tool which the men had left about, examined the Sat.u.r.day"s work....
Mrs Griffith and George, stiff and ill at ease in his clumsy Sunday clothes, went on with their dinner.
"D"you think the vicar knew?" he asked as soon as the father had closed the door.
"I don"t think he"d have asked if he had. Mrs Gray might, but he"s too simple--unless she put him up to it."
"I thought I should never get round with the plate," said George. Mr Griffith, being a carpenter, which is respectable and well-to-do, which is honourable, had been made churchwarden, and part of his duty was to take round the offertory plate. This duty George performed in his father"s occasional absences, as when a coffin was very urgently required.
"I wasn"t going to let them get anything out of me," said Mrs Griffith, defiantly.
All through the service a number of eyes had been fixed on them, eager to catch some sign of emotion, full of horrible curiosity to know what the Griffiths felt and thought; but Mrs Griffith had been inscrutable.
III
Next day the Griffiths lay in wait for the postman; George sat by the parlour window, peeping through the muslin curtains.
"Fanning"s just coming up the street," he said at last. Until the post had come old Griffith could not work; in the courtyard at the back was heard the sound of hammering.
There was a rat-tat at the door, the sound of a letter falling on the mat, and Fanning the postman pa.s.sed on. George leaned back quickly so that he might not see him. Mr Griffith fetched the letter, opened it with trembling hands.... He gave a little gasp of relief.
"She"s got a situation in London."
"Is that all she says?" asked Mrs Griffith. "Give me the letter," and she almost tore it from her husband"s hand.
She read it through and uttered a little e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of contempt--almost of triumph. "You don"t mean to say you believe that?" she cried.
"Let"s look, mother," said George. He read the letter and he too gave a snort of contempt.
"She says she"s got a situation," repeated Mrs Griffith, with a sneer at her husband, "and we"re not to be angry or anxious, and she"s quite happy--and we can write to Charing Cross Post Office. I know what sort of a situation she"s got."
Mr Griffith looked from his wife to his son.
"Don"t you think it"s true?" he asked helplessly. At the first moment he had put the fullest faith in Daisy"s letter, he had been so anxious to believe it; but the scorn of the others....
"There"s Miss Reed coming down the street," said George. "She"s looking this way, and she"s crossing over. I believe she"s coming in."